


much ado about nothing

by CreepE



Series: you look like you ate the lemons life gave you [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Gen, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 04:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7998670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepE/pseuds/CreepE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasori and Sakura's first meeting leaves much to be desired. Mainly, the desire that they'll never, ever see each other again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	much ado about nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is 1000% not meant to be taken seriously

The first time Sakura met Sasori, it was to sign off on the order of some prosthetic arms. It was the chief nurse’s job to do that, but since Tsunade had left early to go drinking with Dr. Jiraiya, the duty fell to Sakura. As such, Sakura had absolutely no idea what to expect, and coming face-to-face with a creepy mask that looked like it had come from some yakuza boss’s wall was a little more than startling.

“H-holy fuck!” Sakura shrieked, dropping her charts with a sharp clatter as the masked man turned towards her. She had either randomly developed schizophrenia—which, as a female at the age of twenty-six who’d shown no previous symptoms, was a little odd—or there was a seriously weird guy cradling a box protectively to his skinny chest as he gave off vibes that he was glaring.

“Rude,” he muttered, his voice sounding clear as bell despite the mask. It was a nice voice—smooth, quiet, and rich in tone—and was at complete odds with the angry snarl of the mask. Sakura quickly composed herself, gathering her chart and blinking rapidly, until she was calm enough to speak.

_Stupid, stupid,_ she chastised herself, offering the masked man an apologetic smile. _As a nurse, you should be used to such weird things. He’s probably hiding bad scars or strange features._

“I’m so sorry,” Sakura offered with her brightest smile, the one she used on the difficult patients. “Your mask startled me a little is all. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Whatever,” masked man sniffed airily, and Sakura’s smile twitched as she fought back the urge to take a swing at the rude asshole, inhaling deeply to calm herself. Before she could say anything else, however, he shifted his box into one arm and reached a gloved hand into his jean pocket to pull out a folded form. Gloves even on his hands? He must have a complex about himself of some sort.

Sakura accepted the form and scanned it over, pausing only for a moment when she realized the name for the manufacturer and the delivery were the same—Sasori. That didn’t sound like any company she’d ever heard of. In fact, it sounded more like a name than anything. With an arch of her eyebrow, she smoothed the sheet out over her charts and began to sign on the dotted lines, keeping her attention focused on the task while she spoke.

“So Sasori makes and has the prosthetics delivered? Not even getting a delivery company to do it, he must be a pretty finicky guy,” she joked, finishing her signing with a flourish. “Let me guess… he’s an old man, maybe with a hunched back from bending over his creations all day long, and he smells like wood shavings.”

She was talking to put the masked man at ease, thinking that maybe joking about his employer would make him a little friendlier (who didn’t like making fun of their boss, really?) but when he stiffened up she knew she’d somehow made a mistake.

“I’m Sasori,” he gritted out, snatching the signed papers back, and Sakura’s smile froze as she realized just how colossally she’d fucked up. The prosthetics the hospital ordered were the best around, hand made to absolute perfection at a price people could actually afford, and Sakura had always pictured someone old and rich working on them in a quaint little lab. Making prosthetics was an arduous, expensive job, so the affordable prices had always made Sakura think the maker was some sort of philanthropist who had a kid missing a leg or something. Not a man who sounded relatively young and who wore clothes to cover every inch of his skin so that nothing was exposed.

“I—I didn’t know,” Sakura half-whispered, mortified. The day had started out so well too, with Sakura finding Sasuke’s veins on the first try when he’d come in for his regular bloodwork. That _damn_ Tsunade, running off with her favourite gambling buddy; Sakura was so _not_ covering for her when Shizune came with stacks of paperwork this time.

“That’s quite evident,” Sasori sighed, sounding like he was wondering why the universe had delivered unto him the world’s stupidest nurse. “But either way, I doubt we’ll be dealing with each other again, so can you just take this box—carefully—and let me leave?”

“Yes, of course,” Sakura said graciously, all the while internally fuming indignantly. It wasn’t her fault the universe was throwing curveballs her way; it just happened sometimes! Shifting her charts into her armpits, Sakura accepted the heavy box Sasori cautiously deposited into her arms, his fingers lingering on the top of it as if saying goodbye to something he loved.

“Thank you for your serv—”

But the doors were swinging shut behind Sasori before Sakura could even finish her sentence, and she was left alone at reception with a heavy box, a huge frown, and a temper that had just reached its limit.

“Hey, Sakura!” a familiar voice called, and Naruto bobbed around the corner with a bright grin, waving gloved hands. “I just got back from the ICU and—”

“Take this,” Sakura growled, shoving the box into Naruto’s arms. The blonde blinked in shock, stumbling around with the box, but Sakura ignored his yelps of ‘Woah, woah, _woah!_ ’ to bolt after the prosthetic maker. She caught him paused in the parking lot, hiding behind a car and peeking at a bunch of kids crowded around a Lamborghini. Holy shit. It was the classic weird-pedophile-who-lives-in-his-basement-making-limbs-and-spying-on-kids trope.

“What the fuck—” Sakura began, but Sasori cut her off yet again, gesturing her over desperately. Bristling, Sakura stomped over to where he crouched, gloved hands dug into crimson locks as he looked nervously between Sakura and the kids.

“Make them go away,” Sasori hissed as soon as Sakura was near enough, and now she was beyond confused.

“Why? They like the car,” she said with a shrug, and Sasori put his fingers to the mask’s lips as if terrified they’d be overheard.

“It’s my car, though,” he whispered, shuddering as if bugs were crawling up and down his spine. Sakura crossed her arms, tapping one foot on the pavement as Sasori kept peeking around the coupe he was hiding behind then jerking back to his place.

“Listen, you self-entitled asshole, you can’t just go around being miserable to everyone than expect them to do stuff for you. I know you’re an important supplier to the hospital, but honestly, you’re being a total dick just because I made a few mistakes.”

Sasori actually listened to her entire rant without getting impatient, taking it in and then nodding once in confirmation.

“I don’t leave my house much,” he replied, as if that were some sort of excuse. “I don’t like people, especially little ones.”

Sakura’s defensive posture drooped as she studied the way he was curled against the coupe, his grip on its tire treads white-knuckled as he peered over the hood yet again. Okay, so maybe it was a valid excuse, because this looked like a clear case of social anxiety to a really, really bad degree. With a sigh, Sakura marched past Sasori, ignoring his outraged cry of ‘ _What are you **doing**?_ ’ to stop near the Lamborghini. The kids all looked up at her, goggly-eyed, and began asking if she owned the car.

“I don’t, but you can’t be playing around our parking space,” Sakura chastised gently. “It’s dangerous.”

With loud complaints and rolls of their eyes, the group of kids left. A few moments later, Sakura turned around to find Sasori had magically appeared at her shoulder, and she let out a shriek for the second time that day. One of these days, she’d have a heart attack, and hopefully it would be this close to the hospital because if not she’d be pissed to die of surprise.

“How did you do that?” Sasori asked almost suspiciously, and she could picture his eyes narrowed in confusion behind his mask. Whatever colour those eyes were. Probably black, like his soul.

“I asked them _politely_ to leave,” she said pointedly, but Sasori just wasn’t getting it.

“How much do you want for it?” he asked, reaching into his pocket and tugging out a wallet that looked as expensive as the entire contents of Sakura and Ino’s shoe closet. Sakura stared in shock as the redhead began counting out hundreds, then reached out to close the wallet, taking care not to come into physical contact with him in case he didn’t like it. That, at least, she got right, because she could see the way he jerked his fingers away with a distasteful sniff. She did her best not to get offended, counting silently to ten in her head.

“A thank you would be nice,” she said carefully, not really expecting to receive it. She was a little shocked when the redhead bobbed his head in a nod and muttered out a quiet form of gratitude. Then not at all shocked when he leapt into his car and squealed out of the parking lot as if driving for dear life.

It was her first meeting with Sasori, and it wasn’t one she’d ever really look back on fondly, but it was a sort of funny story to tell her peers over a couple of drinks. Though it certainly wouldn’t be the funniest story she’d ever tell, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last one involving a masked man with a penchant for rudeness.


End file.
